Of Sapphire Orbs and Raven-haired Lads
by C. Jayne Reed
Summary: It is Pearlshipping Day and Dawn and Ash are feeling rather frustrated with the portrayals of themselves, especially during the reading of the 'script' for a fanfic. Platonic (for the most part) AshxDawn and general mockery within.


So somehow this happened in the midst of me reading up on Canadian history (and I'm not even sorry)

I should've written/edited the second drabble-thing for 'Of Friendship and Folly' but whatever

I still don't own Pokemon for some reason

Enjoy...?

* * *

Flinging a door open is often satisfyingly loud, but this time is an exception.

_Telling yourself 'no need to worry' would be a lie right now, _Dawn thinks, and even though the door bounces off the adjacent wall, practically quivering, she cannot bring herself to smile: disaster is coming.

She would feel good about the sound if it weren't a harbinger of doom. She would be delighted to see Ash, his slumped form at the end of the hall (of course) if she didn't know _what this means._

The lunch tables seem ominous in their sameness, their emptiness. Dawn wonders if she is already being watched. Most likely answer is 'yes,' but she holds onto 'no', that impossible goal.

With that thought in mind, she runs to Ash's table and observes him for a moment: adorable, blissfully unaware, and asleep, his head in his arms, his soft sighs near inaudible.

He looks cute, sure, but really? Asleep! Today! She cannot suppress an eye roll, a scoff: _Trust him to be sleep during the freaking yearly apocalypse._

"Ash, wake up." She shakes his shoulder. "We're late for the clichés." They aren't really, but the sooner they get this over with, the better.

Ash grumbles something then looks at her, eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep and hair scruffy from the sleep itself.

"…Clichés." He says it petulantly, as though wondering why she's waking him up for something he'd love to be late for. "Dawn, what are you talking about?"

Obviously, he's forgotten. She shouldn't be surprised (he forgets every year) and is anyway.

She sighs. "Your hair is a mess…" her hands flutter over his hat, because messy hair never fails to annoy her. Then she scowls. "No, it doesn't matter, 'cause then they can describe your 'raven-hair' as 'rugged', or draw some art of you getting all ragamuffiny to save my life."

Ash sits up now, rubbing his eyes and blinking at the bright, buzzing lights above their heads. Dawn is convinced that they do double duty as cameras, but who knows.

"So I was only able to catch the word 'muffin' from what you just said," he says. "Dawn, I'm not really sure what you're saying. Muffins? Clichés? How do they have anything to do with each other?"

Dawn slides into the seat across from him and buries her head in her hands. "Guess what day it is today."

"Oh, shit." He jumps up. "Today is your _birthday_, isn't it? I'm so sorry, Dawn, I didn't mean to forg – I got you a present, honest, but I didn't buy a card or anything so I made you one, let me go get –"

"It's not my birthday." In fact, _that_ was yesterday, but she decides not to tell him that: she can give him hell for it tomorrow, after this all ends, provided that they aren't awkward about the events of today.

(They will be, though: it's like that every year.)

He slowly sits back down. "Oh." There is a tangible relief in his voice, and Dawn is sorry to burst it, but it must be done.

"Ash," she says, and pauses for drama, drumming her fingers against the table.

He leans forward, inquisitive and aggravated. "Yes?"

"You ruined my dramatic pause." She sighs. "I thought you've acted before. Anyway, as I was saying…Ash."

She eyes him, eyebrows raised in challenge, and he pouts but remains respectfully silent.

"Today," continues Dawn, as breathlessly as she can manage: surely they're watching –"is…Pearlshipping Day."

He frowns at first, scratches his head – then the light of realization comes into his eyes and he groans, hits his forehead against the table repeatedly.

"It can't be," he says to the table, and pauses to run his hands through his hair – further messing it up, of course, which the shippers will _love _and probably chalk up to some hot-'n'-heavy make-out session. He looks at Dawn pleadingly – his hands are even clasped. "I'm still not over _last _year! I'm not _prepared._"

"No one ever is," Dawn says gravely, though she shudders remembering last year: the out-of-character-ness that was inflicted upon her and Ash, as well as others, the constant descriptive _pronouns and qualifiers and neglect of 'said'_!: 'gossiped the lapis-lazuli-haired, miniskirt-wearing, go-go-boot-donning girl furiously, her sapphire orbs staring into the café-au-lait-plus-a-soupçon-of-cinnamon-chocolate irises of her lover', the high school AUs, the truth-or-dares and the plot holes! The utter disregard for spelling and grammar of earlier years makes her so nauseous that she thinks she might faint, and of course Ash will somehow catch her, despite the fact that if she faints she'll still be _sitting_, because romance is always more important than logic on such a momentous day.

Sadly, it's not limited to Pearlshipping.

"The narrator'll be here soon," she tells him, swallowing the bile rising in her throat as she prepares to devolve into wish fulfillment and nonsensical blushes. She adds, regretfully, "I'll miss you."

He smiles at her; she can see that it's strained. "I'll miss you, too, but no need to worry."

The narrator, a perky girl of about thirteen, arrives before Dawn can respond. She distributes the scripts and says, "You two ready?"

_Never have been, never will be, _Dawn thinks, and Ash grimaces vividly.

"Sure," they both say.

* * *

"Okay," squeals the narrator, "seven more chapters to go!"

Dawn wonders if this counts as torture.

The narrator clears her throat. " _'And then, while her sky blue sapphire orbs sparkled, the Pokémon trainer looks at Dawn the coordinator, with such love that her heart stopped, like a bird, in flight, after ramming, into a glass, window._'"

" '_Oh Ash._' " Dawn blushes, as per the script, trying hard not to gag. Ash looks to be in physical pain. " '_You, are my reason for being and the only reason why, I ever succeeds at anything. _Graciosa_ Ash-_chan_ for being, my knight in shining armor._' "

" '_Ash, thinks Dawn looked visually stunning as she stands before him,'_ " the narrator says excitedly, " '_with her waterfall-like hair, cascading over her shoulders, like a waterfall that also blows in the wind, like a flag. The raven-haired male Pokémon trainer extrapolated:'_ "

" '_You are also my reason for being, Hikari-san,_' " Ash says – sorry, extrapolates. " '_And your name is radiant like the sun, except you are even more radiant than it, even though when I look at you directly my chocoalate-brown orbs don't burn like when I look at the sun. But you know, what does burn? My love for you._' "

"Nope, I'm done," says Dawn, and strides towards Ash, grabbing his hand. "I cannot do seven more chapters of this, lady, I'm sorry, but you've got lots of, um, _great _material and don't need us to…validate...it." She nods at Ash, whose thumb rubs her palm nervously (huh) as he sneaks glances at the enraged and shocked fanfic writer. "Let's just go do our _own _Pearlshipping Day," she tells him. "Only, you know. Minus the actual shipping."

"Ice cream?" Ash suggests.

"Oh, yeah."

She lets go of his hand to high-five him, and the writer stares at them as they waltz away, arm-in-arm. All the skin-to-skin contact, platonic or no, makes for terrible ship teasing, but hey, it's fun, and it keeps Dawn from murdering the fanfic writer, and she and Ash can sing 'we're off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz,' due to the linked arms and all, so everyone wins. Especially Ash and Dawn.

'Til next year, of course.

But as they walk towards the nearest ice cream shop, Dawn glances at Ash, her azure orbs taking in his grin – oh, Arceus, she's speaking like the script – and thinks that next year won't be so bad, so long as there is ice cream. They should've thought of this long ago.

"If they call my eyes 'sapphires' again," Dawn mutters, "I will stab _their_ eyes with sapphires to show them the difference."

"If anyone calls me 'raven-haired' ever again," Ash says, thanking her for opening the door for him, "I think I'll start spouting some Edgar Allan Poe."

_So long as there is ice cream and poetry, _Dawn decides, and orders a double 'chocoalate' cone.

* * *

A note: this is an affectionate parody, emphasis on the former, of shipping fanfiction in general and Pearlshipping fanfiction in particular, but I don't mean to belittle any writers or ships - there's been lots of GREAT shipping fanfiction out there, be it truth or dare-based, fluff, high school AUs, etc. (I bet even freaking _Makorra_ *barfs* has its gems, like any other ship.)

Reviews are, as always, much appreciated!


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